Work in Progress

I've been diligently trying to get my footing back after a tumultuous few months. Each day, I find myself making small strides toward healthier choices, in hopes of making me feel better about the emotional upheaval.

To that end, my brother is dropping off my new bed this evening. After years of sleeping on a crap bed, I'll finally have a comfy spot to lay my head. Think a shopping trip for new sheets will be in order for the weekend. And since the grief and upheaval, I've suffered insomnia for nearly a year. Finally going to see the doctor in the morning, and hopefully find a suitable solution. I think my brain just won't turn off the angst that stirs even in my subconscious all day and evening long.

I desperately want to get back to my gym routine and especially now, that I've set a goal that will be happening in a few months. Time to gear up and get ready.

I also commit to writing short stories, the memoir type that is my speciality and where my passion lies. It's been so long and I feel so out of sorts, but it's like anything. One day at a time. And if I don't feel like doing it, I must remember how happy it makes me. And in this case, I believe it will lend itself to healing.

For entertainment, I've decided to downgrade my Netflix for the summer and decided to get myself a DVR. A lot of my favorite shows are on during the summer, but I won't be missing any parties or BBQ's, because I have to watch tv.

And planning and going on little weekend jaunts is another way I'm trying to keep my spirits up.

And of course, my weekly trips to Black Lotus shall continue. Where I drink and laugh and feel like my old self, meaning I laugh and enjoy the friendship and loyalty that is as permenant now as my Mug Club membership, at said bar.

Happy Birthday B.Q.

He is known to many as B.Q., Tubby, or Duke.
And to three of us, he's known as dad.

Happy Birthday Dad.

Thank you for raising me with the grit to get through this. I have cried a lot over the last few months, and I really miss our talks, and our phone conversations while I drove to work. And some days, I don't feel strong at all. I feel ill equipped to take on one more day.

But then I remember how you're pain free now. Served your country that in my opinion, didn't return the favor. But you didn't even wait to be drafted. You ran in, while others did their best to run away.

And I thank you for your service. Vietnam did what it could to wreck you, and you spent the rest of your life picking up those pieces, when I'm sure it would have been easier to run.

Here's a few things I want to share with you today.

1. I came to work today. I really wanted to stay home. Or huddle up on a bar stool. I can't promise I won't do that later. But, you'd never begrudge any one a good time, so I know you understand.

2. I appreciate you never making anything cliche. Instead of calling me your little girl, you always called me your little goil. And you're the only person who ever called me goil.

3. Thanks for giving me your wit, your humor.

4. Thank you for the sharing the gift of your story telling.

5. Thanks for the large Irish family that just won't go away. :) Even when you tell them you want to be alone, and just can't make this year's family reunion.

6. Thank you for our amazing nuclear family. A fantastically quirky, artistic and fun mom, who raised us to be good people, and two brothers who would kick any one's ass, who tried to harm me in any way. And to you, for always insisiting your kids were polite, well groomed, and well mannered.

7. Thank you for sending me to grad school which lead me to this job. A job that lets me show up later than most, and while here, I'm paid to write. Sure, I'm writing in a blog right now, instead of writing about Lincoln, but it's because of you that I'm here.

8. Thank you for the tea parties. That's a special dad that will sit with his daughter and drink gallons of imaginary tea.

9. Thank you for all the generous gifts over the years. It was never about the material items for you. I know you just loved to share the wealth, after growing up poor, you wanted your children to have nice things.

10. Thank you for instilling in me, a sense of survival. Perhaps ironic writing that on your first posthumous birthday, but it's true. You survived Vietnam and seven years of cancer. I think that fighting spirit, was passed down to me.

As a baby born at just over six months, doctors all said I would die.
I remember you telling me the story a few years ago.
How you wanted to give me a name, Kelly Rose,so that I would know that somebody was figthing for me.

The torch has been passed. I'm fighting to win the grief battle every day.

Happy Birthday to the original fighter.
The Might Quinn,indeed.

Your loving daughter,
Kelly Rose.

I Love

I posted a blog the other day, about all the things that I hated now that Nevada has died. Not all were negative. But to make a counter blog about all the things I loved about her, was a suggestion.(thanks mom).


I love that I came to work at Wunderman in January of 2006 and met Nevada.

I love that after our initial conversation, she gave me a chance, and we became really good friends.

I love that she always made me see things in a different way and helped me to laugh at myself.

I love that she was so passionate about writing.

I love that she wanted me to find somebody to love so bad, that she spend hours and hours helping me get ready for dates, fielding emails, and writing personal ads for me.

I love that she walked with me almost daily. And helped me get thin.

I love how much she loved her boyfriend Trevor.

I love that she always had time for me.

I love her ability to live in the moment and be fully present, with whatever she was doing.

I love her loyalty. Once she was your friend, she was there no matter what.

I love that we could have fun no matter what we were doing.

I love her strength in times of crisis.

I love her hatred of talking on the phone, and the fact that I had to get a text plan just to talk to her.

I love that she hated the phone, but she would talk to me whenever I needed her.

I love that she accepted me for me, but tried to make me the best me that she could.

I love our how our walks often ended at Bastone for beer.

I love how she introduced me to good beer.

I love the way she wouldn't let any harm come to me on her watch.

I love her fearless nature, even in the face of a scary, unknown illness.

I love her sense of humor.

I love her sense of style for her own self and her ability to dress those around her.

I love her quirky love of projects, no matter how random. Including making her own bed. Literally.

I love her love of life.

I love her crabbing at me to snap out of mood swings.

I love her explaining ankle beards.

I love our talks about turtles.

I love that any secret was safe.

I love how she could calm me, when I was freaking out.

I love that she believed in me, at times when I didn't believe in myself.

I love sitting on patios in backyards, drinking a good beer with her.

I love the trip on the train to Chicago when we ate our way through the city.

I love her friendship.

I love her ability to really listen.

I love her ability to dance.

I love her zest for finding the perfect gift.

I love her.

Birthday Recap

*Editorial Note: This blog originally appeared elsewhere.

I'm not a attention monger. So, it's weird to announce even in a family blog, that today is my birthday. I feel a decade older than I did last year. Probably because I lost of of my best friends in October and my dad in January. I don't feel like doing a whole lot of celebrating, but I am also trying to find the joy in the friends and family I have left.

Two birthday memories from growing up stick out.

1. Not much for planning, my dad rarely had birthday gifts purchased and wrapped the days before. On my I'm guessing 9th or 10th birthday, my dad took me on a shopping spree at K-Mart. We went up and down every aisle, and he let me pick things, I'd never get at home. Whoppers in a carton, Cap'n Crunch cereal, Dr. Schoals red buckled clogs that were the rage that year. The best part, was that every time I picked up an item, I'd ask, "Can I get this one Daddy?" He'd smile and say, "Throw it in the cart."

2. My other memory involves the Bachelors One in Keego. Again, not much for planning, or so it seemed, my dad picked me up in Milford and suggested we go to lunch at the B-1. When we pulled up outside, The sign read, Happy Birthday Kelly Rose.

As an eight year old, I thought I was famous.

Thank you for all you did, Dad. A man I once proclaimed, "Daddy, I know you're name.
When he asked, "What is it? I said Daddy Quinlan."

Weekend

My weekend wasn't too bad. It was the first time I'd been home in two weeks. Friday I left work a little early to go get my driver's license renewed. After that I came home and ate dinner. Got restless after that, so I decided to treat myself to a pedicure, after a horribly sad week.

A nice walk and pedicure complete with massage chair, and my mood was uplifted. Came home and vegged out with some tv after that.

Saturday morning, I got up and went for a two mile walk and then Karlene came down to spend the day with me. Like a true friend, as soon as I told her my bedroom was way too hot and I was thinking of getting a new Air Conditioner, she happily agreed to help me.

That's how the two of us ended up lugging the old one downstairs and putting it on the curb, with a sign that said works. It's gone, so someone is happy. We went and bought a new one on sale for $100.00, and it's working great. Then we went to my Aunt Carol's retirment party and then treated ourselves to a Dairy Queen on the way home.

After that, Rachel stopped by for a visit. Sunday was chore day, until dinner time when my mom, Shane and our family friend Jeff came over to take me out to early birthday dinner. :)

An Irish restuarant with a really cool waitress. I felt very loved, but I'm having a hard time feeling happy these days.

I Hate

I hate that you died.

I hate that you make me cry.

I hate that I wear you in a ring on my hand. A tiny pile of ashes.

I hate that I dumped you in the Chicago River, on the beach in Northport Michigan, and on the corner of 4th and Troy in Royal Oak, where we started all our walks.

I hate that we won’t ever laugh about how stupid I am about men, over beers ever again.

I hate that you’re going to miss the rest of our lives.

I hate that you won’t ever meet who ever I do end up with.

I hate that my dad had to go, so quickly after you.

I hate MoyaMoya.

I hate that you couldn’t be fixed.

I hate that you would never hurt me, and I’m in so much pain.

I hate that I can’t talk to you. Or walk with you.

I hate that we will never eat at Bastone again.

I hate that life had other plans for you.

I hate that our time together was so short.

I hate that I’ll miss you for the rest of my life.

I hate that you have to miss the next party.

I hate not hearing you laugh.

I hate the hole you left in my heart.

I hate the idea of never knowing you.

I hate the idea of never having your friendship.

I hate you not being here everyday.

I hate this.